AUTUMN MUSEPAPER - PHOTO TRAILER

First row, left to right:

THE MACHINE I., credits Veronika Vlak

QUESTIONS FOR ALEX WENT, credits Anna Hupcejová

QUESTIONS FOR ALEX WENT, credits Alex Went (Prague Vitruvius)

Second row, left to right:

PRAGUE LEGEND, credits Alex Went

MP LOGO FOR THE AUTUMN ISSUE

FLASHBACK: WILLIE WATSON and his poem BEADS, credits Anna Hupcejová

Third row, left to right:

HOW TO ENJOY BUDAPEST IN 10 STEPS, credits Anna Hupcejová

EL VERANO ESTUPENDO, OR, THE MOST AMAZING SUMMER OF MY LIFE, credits Renata Longaerová

SURF CASTING,  credits Stephan Delbos

OVERTURE to the Autumn MP

“If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.” – Henry David Thoreau

The Musepaper may not be a castle, yet until now it was “in the air”, built mainly on the idea of a monthly virtual magazine for students of Anglophone Studies at the Faculty of Arts, CU. The “foundations” have been gradually built since February 2013; more members in the M-team and the financial support of the English College in Prague have together made it possible for you to purchase and hold this magazine in your hands.

The autumn issue revives memories of summer, functions as a platform for creative writing and gives an introduction to interesting personae we have interviewed newly or in the past. It also is the first of the three MPs planned to be published during this academic year – and I earnestly hope and believe it is one that will amuse both our regular and new readers.

Anna Hupcejová

Editor in Chief

The Machine I.

U. knocked on the rusted door. Lightly at first with his knuckles, but soon he was slapping it with an open palm, so that the metal surface reverberated, and sent out chiming vibrations like a Tibetan bowl. The deserted alleyway which lay behind him was bathed in an acidic orange light, and he seemed to remember a darkened city street, peddling itself like a cheap hooker just beyond the alley's apex.

            No answer. U. knocked again, deliberately and with more determination. He sighed and looked around, back towards the way he came. The mouth of the alley loomed out onto the stiff darkness. The dirty street was not visible. It's out there, waiting, like a predator, perched and ready to pounce. But what does he know; what if the street is merely a dream? Is there even a street?

            Yes, there is; No pathos, please.

             “What?” U. spun around to see a lean yellowed face peering up at him. A being of small stature and dressed in a caftan made of coarse fabric was standing just beyond the opened door. Its mouth was set, and its black obsidian eyes radiated a reptile clarity.

            “I said: No pathos, please. Come in, U.”

The locked door now opened up onto a decrepit, long corridor. The concrete surfaces were humid, and a number of puddles reflected the meager white light. U. stepped in uncomfortably, one wary step, and looked down the long hallway. Another metal door could be seen at the far end, and above it a flickering fluorescent tube. He peered at the host who regarded him steadily.

            “I'm here for the Machine.”

            “Yes, I know… Come in.”

            “Right” U. stepped in a few more steps, and the stranger closed the door behind them. The sound waves radiated down the hall, a sonic wall that filtered through your pores, vibrated through the flesh, and oozed out the other end. The guide moved down the hallway with a whimsical air, occasionally lightly brushing the peeling, white-washed walls with gaunt, yellowed fingers. Everything was wet and soggy, and the air smelled of fungus the further down the corridor they proceeded.  A moth flitted listlessly around an uncovered light bulb which hung down from the ceiling like a cadaver. It swayed to and fro, pitching the stark shadows back and forth across the walls.

            “So, quite a place here, right? And the Machine?”

            “Yes, the Machine”

            “Well, how is it doing?”

            The strange host paused in his gait to look U. directly in the eyes. U. could feel a million centipedes crawling through his brain as the stranger probed and prodded the tender recesses of his mind, the cobwebbed nooks and crannies of his grey matter; all with those black, beady eyes of his. U. could feel that a main nerve had been struck, and somewhere in his brain a meaty strip, about the size of an almond, started throbbing and convulsing, like a leech left out in the hot summer sun.

            The stranger looked away, and all the dire sensations immediately stopped. U. felt fresh, rejuvenated, and looked at the world around him with the clear mind of a freshly cuddled child. The tension in his shoulders disappeared, and his head became light as a feather. His spine regained a startlingly natural position.

            “It's doing great. It is the Machine… Please, through here.”

            The second door opened onto a large warehouse space. The cracked whitewash showed large patches of the crumbling bricks which lay underneath. Here too, all was soggy and decrepit, with rust coating the metal surfaces of the opened doors, as well as of the rows of metal pillars which receded ominously into the darkness stretching out ahead.

            “So, when do I start?” His words echoed through the large hall, and rebounded from unseen walls in a myriad of strange angles. U. uneasily tugged at his shirt cuffs. He was perspiring, and the humidity of the place was becoming unbearable.

            “You have started. Please, follow me.”

            The host resumed his steady gait, and could be seen shimmying along towards the other side of the space which lay in darkness. U. followed him, and the endless abyss of the warehouse made him feel very much agoraphobic.

            The interior reminded him of cathedrals he went to as a child. There, the ceilings stretched out and up into recesses too mysterious to mention; all the way up to where the big G., or so he was told, resided. He was apparently quite the fellow: stern but benevolent, tending his flock with a loving gaze, but willing to get his hands dirty when the going got tough and them no-goodnicks etc. etc.

            For U., however, what mattered was the abstract potential of that shaded realm beneath the cathedral's domed ceiling. It was the inkling of the Unknowable known, of the Unnameable named which thrilled U. to the deepest recesses of his, at that time still very well functioning, bone marrow.

             G. seemed to him more and more like a beautiful woman, elusive and coquettish; the primordial lover, who, constantly playful, albeit on occasion difficult made her way o—

            Boom! The overhead fluorescent lights came on with a flash and filled the large, formerly dark, warehouse space with white light. U.'s eyes spasmodically tried to adjust. They drifted towards the high ceiling, only to see the intersecting steel beams which served to support the building's structure.  So very high above them, they created a static grid which carried the weight of the roof, and prevented the sagging walls of the immense structure from collapsing inwards. 

            The guide could be seen standing by a small metal door, his hand resting on a large pull-down light switch. He was looking at U., watching his reaction with no particular interest.

            “Please, stop dreaming U., it is bad for the Machine. Now, follow me.” Still attempting to get his bearings, U. bowed his head, and entered through the small door.

             He found himself walking down a hall of immense proportions.  Pieces of technology could be seen littering the ground, piled into high spires that reminded him of termite nests. Some of these mounds were connected to each other with bristling wires, while others lay dark and inert, disconnected from the larger network. A pinkish light filled the air, and a subsonic electric hum persistently vibrated in U.'s ribcage. U. could feel the hairs on his forearm standing to attention, as the currents of electricity blazed around them, a perfect matrix of unseen energy. Televisions of all sorts and brands lined the far walls, and were transmitting their content relentlessly. News feeds, CCTV, sitcoms, footage of the Rwanda massacres, commercials; all of them mingled in the pattern of an immensely complex Technicolor quilt.

            A stooped figure could be seen making the rounds from one TV cluster to another. Its hunched profile navigated between the high piles of machinery with surprising efficacy, occasionally climbing over some of the dead debris. It stopped for a while before some of the TVs and watched them, only to soon continue on, sometimes pausing for to kneel and check something at the base of one of the tall, lopsided spires. Under the person's touch some of the nodes lighted up, while others powered down, their lights ebbing away to darkness.

            U.'s guide patiently waited for the question.

            “Who is that?”

            “That is the Artifex. He maintains and tweaks the Machine, so that people like you may experience it to the fullest.”

            “What does he do here?”

            “He maintains and tweaks the Machine, so that people like you may experience it to the fullest.”

            U. took to sliding his fingers across the surfaces of the lopsided mounds by which he passed. Some parts of the spires were completely corroded, while others had a pristine metallic shine, while still others gave off sparks or oozed a strange type of bluish liquid which stuck to one's fingers and chilled the flesh. U. and his guide slowly moved through the jagged environment, and the guide patiently waited up for him when something peculiarly interesting occupied U.'s attention. The stooped, dwarfish figure of the Artifex paid no attention to them, and shimmied on as if they were not there. A deep hood shaded its face, and, although he strained his eyes, U. could not make out its features. Who was he?

            “You will know soon enough, U. Please, over there. The Machine is waiting.”

            The walls of the large warehouse space were lined with narrow, tall, sliding doors made of a cheap tin metal. The guide paused next to one of them, and motioned for U. to come nearer. He slid the doors deftly open, and the rattle of the thin doors pierced U.'s ears. He stepped forward.

            “Come in. Welcome to your Machine.” The two of them stepped into a small chamber. A padded reclining chair was connected to the surrounding walls by monolithic curbs which presumably sheltered sheaves of wires. All curbs and surfaces of the chamber were lined with dark, rubbery tubes, which occasionally connected to larger metallic vectors. The room was dark, and no sound yet escaped from the large contraption that nestled itself around the small padded settee which sat directly in the middle of the cramped room. The darkness was only pierced by a small aperture which looked up onto the night sky. The softly diffused moonlight settled itself directly on the central chair like a spotlight, giving it a seemingly white complexion.

            U. walked around the chamber, interested in every minute detail of the design. He saw large pistons being bathed in the blue cooling fluid, their metallic bodies being washed over like the faces of the drowned. Huge clusters of thin, white tubes lined the ceiling corners, where they rested like huge beehives. They looked down onto the room below, ominous, heavy, and seemingly about to tumble like a cluster of ripe grapes.

            Upon the touch of a button from the guide, the room lit up and the large white beehives started flashing like rainbow. The soft moonlight was ripped apart by the electric drizzle emitted from the screens and dials of the contraption.

             While U. was checking out the strange interior, the guide started a monologue, speaking softly.

            “This is your Machine. As you may have noticed, there are many Machines, all lining the walls of the Central Chamber. This means that not everyone has the same Machine as you do. They vary, because the experiences vary. You see, the Machine is an enigma, a labyrinth. It changes its physical properties - its circuits, its wiring, its software, everything – based on the mental capacities of the user. The users come together, and create its environment by themselves and for themselves. The nature of this process is still a mystery, and only Him, that great Artifex we've caught a glimpse of, knows the minute working s of it. And even he does not understand all.”

            “So what can I expect from it?” asked U. while slowly running his palm over a large copper dial.

            “You can expect all and nothing. You will fuse with the larger system of the great Machine. What happens there stays there for each to figure out for the self. It is a risk; it is an investment. Some stay linked to the Machine for decades and decades. Eventually, they atrophy, their mouths ooze a strange liquid, and their flesh turns rubbery and non-responsive. Some choose never to leave the labyrinth, and rather fuse, becoming one with that great, mysterious being. 

            Others enter the labyrinth's inner sanctum, receive, and re-emerge.

             You see, the Machine may be found everywhere, connected with other centres all over the world. It is in constant flux; it constantly evolves and morphs, growing new appendages, forming new connections, while letting others atrophy. It regulates itself, do you see? In this, it is an organism in the truest sense; yet, created by the celestial art of man.”

            Here the guide paused, and his eyes roamed the chamber with an appreciative air.

            “Have you been in the Machine?”

            “Yes. But I am only a servant. The Machine has been good to me.”

            U. noticed the guide kneeling mechanically by the door, his eyes still riveted on the glossy surfaces of the wired walls around him. The being sat down on its haunches, and bowed its back. Its forehead touched the ground with a metallic clink. Its back then returned to its upright position and it proceeded to reach into a small pouch in his caftan, pulling out a little copper card. It then got up and, with that peculiar rhythmic gait, walked over to the nearest greenly flashing terminal. The screen of the terminal was filled with algorithms, occasionally flashing geometrical shapes which mingled and coalesced into twirling, dynamic, psychedelic patterns, their permutations seemingly inexhaustible.

            “Are you ready to fuse?”

            “Yes.” said U. and his voice was surprisingly calm.

            “Then sit down.”

            U. proceeded to sit down into the soft settee which enveloped him like a bean bag chair.

            “Ab antiquo ad aeterno,” mumbled the guide and proceeded to swipe the copper card into a slot next to the main terminal. The Machine clicked and whirred, a myriad valves and lifter galleries sliding into place; it started its mad dash towards oblivion. A large headset, until then suspended a few feet above the central chair descended ominously onto U.'s face. Its touch was soft and rubbery, and U. could only see blackness. His body relaxed into the strange contraption, and his senses bristled with expectation.

            Then an explosion of colour and sound filled his brain until it overflowed with electric sensation and U. settled in for the long haul.

Jim Stein

The Machine II.

No thoughts, only sensations: a tunnel of bright light blazing across myriad galaxies. More pathos, please. His consciousness experienced utter disbelief in the face of his dead mother resurrected in front of him. The Machine thus deftly incarnated, just for U. Waves of luscious warmth undulating his receptors as the girl THE ONE that got away caresses POV style. Father proud. Racing across super-clusters comprised of billions of stars & star systems. That dead hooker from five years ago digging her way six feet up through criminal mud and going back to school. It’s ok, it never happened. U. witnessed a space shattering, gravity bending explosion of a Supernova, and then serenity. The following is a slow-mo selfie of the process that led to that serenity riddled with virulent remarks and dystopian visions. The process took about the time the Big Bang germ universe needed to inflate into the size of an orange,

in other words,

To provide the ached for serenity, The Machine dug deeper:

An electrified arm heavy with oil reached his prefrontal lobe and opened U. up—a cybernetic lobotomy—a giant butcher leaning in on a paralyzed piece of clay executed routine motions, extracting a memory here, moulding a feeling there—colours bursting from every crevice, yet dark, metallic grey prevailed and suffused every stage—the butcher’s apron stank grey matter, x-ray eyed—his elbows thrust deep dripping spinal fluid—the progress of the thinned slab of a soul towards oblivion—high voltage urge—e-e-electronic spasms pressurized the throbbing strip of brain meat—glandula pinealis—quicker and madder with every contraction.

Fusion 98% complete

U. and the others are not going to remember the process, the oblivion is within reach:

No thoughts, only sensations: others were there somewhere, U. felt their presence. Suddenly, there was an overreaching umbrella presence, not a god but a mum. Not your mum, but an Über-Mum, an impersonal yet soothingly comforting being that diffused itself over every nerve, an embalming agent crimson with cream pie. sHe hugged the gutted mind. A volcano of warmth with an angelic air of the Virgin, yet, with a distortion in the TV signal, the Virgin turned Godzilla—a mechanical monomaniacal monster with barbed wire for her hair crushed the screen breaking the glass into a million pieces piercing non-existent ears—a need to care, tailor a mother—huge, rusty antennae posing as hung, pathetic nipples broadcasting its circuit sermon, an analogue vlog—coil speeding ever up—inexhaustible hieroglyphic permutations scarred the screen—‘why don’t ya split an atom?’—frantic, convulsing nuggets of neurons dashing volatile—one taking off in a blast from the rent brain, glue-sponging on the metallic wall like a hungry snail—frog limbs fried electro-crispy with uranium batteries, ‘The brand new Artifex Uranium Batteries – They will span a generation – Get one today!’

And then there was a fade away into pictures sweet, recollected in tranquillity. An idyllic scene up on a hill, where the mother was summoning her children to a wholesome meal, followed by the heart-warming image of a soldier returning home unscathed, happiness and warmth filling the bosom of the wife. The TV signal got distorted again; Über-Mum re-assumed the scene, roaring and releasing the outlets of her engineered breasts—heavenly smooth mother-milk pouring out into glasses stamped as ‘Knifey Moloko’ marching motionless on a conveyor belt—a toxic toddler—battery acid blazing out like a WWII flame-thrower—“Its very memory gives a shape to fear”—and then a black screen, pulse nil, still clay.

“Our souls (which to advance their state

           Were gone out)” purged of the body’s ailments, purified of the organic filth. “We like sepulchral statues lay,” shell flung away, safely planted in the cradle of a settee—will it blend? It was a bilious blind date, in which one knew everything, the other nothing. U. and The Machine, intermingled in an intercourse of souls, were ushered up on a higher plane, perchance headed for Bora-Bora. It was an experiment in organic game-playing now that the church is a sight seen. Lab the altar, say Noah to drugs and do please post about your rape as the computer virus blends with cancer, tech transcends its maker and the digital midget wreaks his bitter vengeance on the Man. Fusion 99% complete. Will we ever regain our reign?—Ssshh, The Machine can hear you.

Jaromír Lelek

Interview with Alex Went

We carried out the interview in the courtyard of Prague College. With people passing in and out, sitting down on a nearby bench to smoke a cigarette or drink a cup of coffee, it sometimes felt like a live show. In short, the atmosphere was vivid, positive and good-humored, as we discussed architecture, photography and much more.

OVERTURE

First off, what were your BA and MA courses?

Both were in English literature.

Do you remember what your theses were on?

I did one thesis on the Second World War poet Keith Douglas and I did the other on Ezra Pound which wasn’t really successful.

How come?

(laughs) I was very lazy, didn’t do enough research.

Both were at the University of Cambridge?

Yes, I was at Cambridge a long time ago. I’m not telling you which class!

Since you graduated, you have done quite a lot of travelling and you have moved abroad to work. How come?

Well my first introduction to Prague was in 1991, I was teaching English at the time and we have bought one of the first ever secondary school visits to Prague from the UK to the new Czechoslovak Republic, as it then was. And it was love at first sight really, as it is with many people.

Did you know anything about the history of the country before you arrived?

Not really, no – but I know a lot more now!

It’s usually that when I ask people who came into the country in nineteen ninety something, this question, many say that their parents even today just are horrified that their kids are going to live or are living in a communist country.

I believe that there are many people who still believe that it’s called Czechoslovakia. I was told that until recently some staff at the American Embassy still had “Czechoslovakia” on their visit cards. I have to check though if this is true!

So currently you’re the head of the Communications Department here at Prague College. Before you were an editor at City Out Monaco and Head of Communications at the British Chamber of Commerce in the Czech Republic. Looking back, what have all these jobs given you?

Well, my background is in education and more recently in business and so the opportunity to combine both of those elements of my experience has come together very nicely in this work which involves a great deal of networking, particularly with businesses, all local, national and international. Being an institute of higher education, we are always looking for ways to develop our links for purpose of internships, projects and of course employment. And so one of the things we have been doing at Prague College was setting up an industry network which is intended to deepen and enrich our connections with all those companies.

And that’s going well I suppose?

It’s going very well and we’re looking to expand our numbers quite rapidly this year when it’s also our 10^th anniversary.

·         ON ALCHEMY

When you came to Prague, did Alchemy already exist?

I believe it didn’t exist at that point, but it had been running and was well established when I came to live here permanently in the late 2000s.

You have volunteered to host it?

I’ve been doing it for just over a year now, together with my girlfriend Petra.

What is your goal as hosts?

We’re really looking to consolidate what we have at the moment in terms of both external speakers and of course a regular audience of readers. So there are no immediate plans to expand or diversify. We feel that the once-a-month format for Alchemy works well.

Where do you get the guest speakers from?

Really many of them come along by chance! We just happen to bump into people or on occasion we are written to by someone from abroad. For example this autumn we are having a lady from Australia coming in – she came across the website, as a lot of people do on the international reading circuit and offered her services. So we are very pleased to invite people from abroad. Generally speaking, Alchemy is an English-speaking event and so clearly Anglophone countries tend to provide the majority of our speakers but we do welcome other language speakers, including Czechs of course.

·         ON PRAGUE VITRUVIUS

You run a website dedicated to Prague architecture called Prague Vitruvius.

Yes, I do. I started it in 2011. Before that I had been running another blog - actually, let’s not call it a blog, I don’t like that word - photo journal, based on the suburb of Vršovice which is where I live. But it’s quite a small suburb so I sort of ran out of places to photograph and decided that I’d expand and indulge my interest in art history and architecture.

Did you ever think about studying history or architecture?

No, only in a coffee-table way; my principal love has always been literature.

Do you write all articles in P. V. yourself?

Yes, I go out and take the photos and usually on the same day when things are still fresh in my mind I come back home and do a couple of hours’ research on each building.

And you do online research or do you ask the locals?

Mostly online but I also use printed materials - I’ve got quite a nice collection now of written works on Prague architecture of different periods. Prague locals have a good understanding of their own architecture and sometimes I will talk to them to clarify one or two missing details.

So you do all the photographing, the editing, the writing… How long does the creation of one post take?

When I go out I’ll normally take about 100-200 photographs of maybe four or five buildings at once so I have a sort of pond to dip into at a later date. And as I say, research for one entry is a matter of maximum of two hours, mostly online.

The site is open to comments, though it has generated relatively little interaction. There’s a plan later this year to revitalize the website’s “look and feel”, as they say, so that may engage people a little bit more.

Wouldn’t it be a good idea to get interns?

No, God no! Definitely not, this is my own private hobby, it’s a way to get away from other people! 

And I was just about to ask if you view P. V. as an obligation or leisure, so I guess that’s answered!

No, but it’s a nice idea. What I am keen to do is to get more testimonials from institutions – for example the Pražská informační služba and Radio Prague have already made nice testimonial quotations about the site. My aim is to try and get some of the more conservational heritage groups to have a look at the site and recommend it. I’ve tried UNESCO but without much luck so far.

ON ARCHITECTURE AND PRAGUE

What is your original hometown?

I’m from a town called Stafford, right in the middle of England, just north of Birmingham. It’s a very beautiful and much underestimated county. People who live there rather like the fact that it’s perhaps not so much visited as other parts of the country and so it’s been able to be preserved in its rural beauty.

What’s the architecture like there, more countryside like, I presume?

The architecture I grew up with was pretty much vernacular – farm houses, small villages, that sort of thing. So of course to me anything as splendid as the streets of Vinohrady is like walking into a treasure box!

Would you say the face of Prague has changed since 1991?

Well of course, but I didn’t see it changing, as I was just coming here periodically for visits.

In the last 5 years then?

Well, going back to the architecture, there have been a few egregious projects for which I don’t understand how they got planning permission, really. I wouldn’t like to name particular ones, but we all know that there are buildings that are real eyesores now, along the riverbank in Prague – that gives it away. I for one am not a fan of Kaplický’s blob, the octopus. I really hope they don’t build that thing up at Letná, it’d be dreadful.

There was some talk about changing the location to somewhere else.

I’ve seen pictures of a miniature version of it that they’re used as a bus shelter in Brno and I think that that’s where it should stop. He did do the Selfridges building in Birmingham, which I quite like, but given that the rest of Birmingham is quite a hodge-podgef architectural styles, it kind of fits. In the context of the Prague skyline it would be a disaster.

By interest, have you heard about the project URBEX?

Not before this interview, but I have looked at their website. I definitely am interested in urban architecture – in fact I have a long-standing invitation that I haven’t yet taken up to photograph the ČKD works in Karlín - an old industrial compressor plant.  If I do more work in the future on industrial architecture, I am very open to getting in touch with URBEX.

How’s your Czech actually?

For somebody who has been living here for 5 years full time and been visiting for 20 years it’s completely hopeless, I think. People say I’ve got a decent accent – but restaurants are about my limit.

How would you describe the neighborhood you live in, Vršovice?

The part I live in, Staré Vršovice, it’s a little untouched gem, really.  It sounds odd to say, but to a certain extent it is a nice place to live because it feels lived in, like a sort of worn glove or an old sock. I like the fact that the pavements are broken. I don’t appreciate the dog shit, but I quite like the fact that things are not perfect. But I suspect like everywhere else that it will become a sort of haven for the next generation of people with money who want that ‘authentic experience’ of living in an older part of the city.

Do you have favorite places in Prague, ones than you would recommend?

These are my three V’s. I think everyone should go to Vyšehrad because it is kind of the spiritual center - I think nobody should visit Prague without going to the graves of Dvořák and Smetana, so that’s very important.

And then I think people should go to Vítkov, simply because it is not much visited, it’s got a great panoramic view and it’s the other end of Prague history – not only the Communist side of things, but everything really from the First World War. Originally the museum there was built as a memorial to the Czech Legionnaires – and that’s an interesting, often forgotten part of the history.

And then the third V is the Veletržní palace which I think is hopelessly under-visited - partly because of the National Gallery’s relatively poor recent administration and partly because of its location. I mean, it is one of the finest collections in Europe.

It has Mucha there now, right.

Yes, the Slav Epic is there, but it doesn’t belong to them, it’s just hosted there. But the actual, permanent collection at Veletržní palace is absolutely fantastic! I mean, at some points of Prague’s history, it was very well curated; they were buying really quality stuff. They got fabulous collections of Picassos that are just unrivalled. They got only one Van Gogh, but it is a bloody good Van Gogh, then they got that chap who went off to the South Sea isles…

Gauguin.

Gauguin. They’ve got only one Gauguin, but again, it is a bloody good Gauguin. I think it’s a great thing they’ve got going on there; it’s a really nice collection. But when you go there, the only people you see regularly are the old-school babičky who insist on following you around.

ON WRITING

You also write your own creative writing, mainly poetry.

Yes, yes. I’ve tried my hand at prose but I’m not very good at plotting out large scale narratives. Instead I try to concern myself with what one might call the glinting shards of observation and experience, since poetry is better suited to that. Most of my recent poems are published online – pragueleaves.blogspot.com. So if people want to read my stuff there, they can.

What are the poems based on?

Most of them are based on my experiences in this country as well as my own understanding of the politics and history of the country. But I usually take as my starting point something artistic, like a book I’ve read, a painting, a bit of architecture, whatever.

I looked at the web yesterday actually and it seemed that the most frequent themes were architecture and history.

Yes. What I try to do when constructing a poem is that I try to lead the reader in a particular direction that is often delimited by historical information and then to apply a modern or contemporary twist – a mobile phone here, an e-mail there, something that brings the reader sharply back into contemporary focus. That tends to be my strategy.

So you once said that music inspires you.

Yes, well I’m very keen on the baroque music of this region.

How come?

On my first visit in ‘91 I came across a small shop that doesn’t exist anymore that was playing CDs of a composer called Jan Dismas Zelenka. I think there were just 2 CDs available back in 1991 and since then along with me the rest of the world seems to have discovered this extraordinary composer. There are now, I don’t know, 60 or 70 CDs available and he has become, I suppose, one of the more well-known Bohemian composers.

What appeals to you about his work?

Well, again, he does something that I try to do in my own writing, which is just to apply an unexpected turn in a structure that you may be more familiar with. For example, he’ll construct a piece that builds in a particular way and then there’ll be a really unusual key change or modulation that just throws you completely - I rather like that.

Surprise, basically.

Yes, I like the element of surprise.

·         ON LITERATURE

In terms of literature, do you have a favorite period, as you do with music?

I do like Elizabethan writing and, like you, I enjoy the works of the metaphysical poets which is the closest one can come to the element of surprise and shock. But for me, the big areas of interest are really Shakespeare – the sonnets as well as the plays - the Romantics and some 20^th century writing.

For example?

Very keen on The Great Gatsby, Heart of Darkness… Fitzgerald, Conrad… Trying to think of other writers who I am keen on… Evelyn Waugh, that’s a big influence. David Lodge…

DH Lawrence maybe?

I like travel writing actually – I like his books on the Etruscan tombs in Italy, called Etruscan Places.

Kerouac?

Not so much, I’m not much of a Beats fan. I’m not completely antipathetic to that, but I find that some people who come here to Prague tend to be readers of Kafka and Kerouac and not much else. It can become a little bit…

Limited?

Yes, but I think it’s more self-limiting, that sort of conversation. I’d much rather if people reached out and explored other literary arenas.

Is there a book or collection of poetry that you return to?

(Long pause) Well, not really – I mean, there are authors I return to and also materials that I should have read before but haven’t. Recently I read Tender is the Night for the first time, and some less well-known Virginia Woolf. Right now I’m reading Anna Karenina which again I should have read years ago and left it till now. It’s a bit of fun, isn’t it? (Smirks)

Have you read Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer? It’s a travel novel.

Oh yes. No, though I did come across another book by him, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, about the aftermath of 9/11. But I’m bit of an old fogey aren’t I, not keeping up with the new authors.

This book was published in 2002.

Still new, to me. But generally I think a lot of people in this fast-moving world could learn a lot by taking a break from the schedule and giving their time to others. That’s also one of the reasons why used to enjoy teaching Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird – one had to step out of one’s shoes and walk in someone else’s in order to understand them.

They have actually taken that book off the iGCSE reading list not too long ago.

Oh well, nothing surprises me these days.

·         CONCLUDING QUESTIONS

Where do you see Prague Vitruvius in a few years?

As I said to you before, I’d like it to get more attraction and more interest from big institutions. And then really, its expansion is solely dependent on my time - and the money to buy a new camera (contributions welcome!)  Seriously, I really value the ability that the internet gives to extend knowledge free of charge.

Alchemy?

I’d like to see that continue to be a harbor of creative arts in the expat community in Prague. It has had its competitors but at the same time it has the virtue of lasting longer than any of them. I think it is very important for people to have this regular meeting point. I especially like that concept of regularity.

Well, you say that Alchemy is an English writing platform – and yet some of the readers read their works that are written in French or Czech.

I’m extremely in favor of that. I think that the mystery of the word is so important, the mystery of sound, to our identity as human beings. Especially when that sound is so confusing to us, it produces a music that should inspire us to widen our own perceptions of what makes us human beings. You could say that was true of literature even in your own language that you don’t get or understand straight away – there’s the famous Eliot line that great poetry communicates before it is understood. Even though the writing is in French or any other language, there can still be a visceral level at which communication happens. I often think that people overlook the strategic importance of language in all its forms, whether in everyday gossip, business writing or formal literary discourse and to me, not only are all these three deeply connected, but people should never stop learning how to do it better. In that way, life is for me a little bit like going back to college – you learn every day to improve your communication skills.

And lastly, where do you see yourself in a few years?

Oh, I don’t know. My friends all joke about me talking about moving back to Scotland – whenever I mention my affection for the land of my ancestors, they choose to see it as a metaphor for my impending death. In a few years I will probably still be here. And in terms of my work, I’d like to continue communicating in all ways – but maybe for more money! (Laughs)

Anna Hupcejová

Links

Prague Vitruvius - http://www.praguestory.com/

https://www.facebook.com/praguestory

His poems - http://www.pragueleaves.blogspot.cz/

Alchemy - http://www.alchemy-prague.com/